


take me by the hand, take me somewhere new

by foggys_cupcake_girl



Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: (again...kind of??? idk what I'm doing here I'm sorry), (kind of?), Colin Farrell is Daddy Penguin, Corruption, DEFINITELY Barry gets kind of corrupted, Daddy Kink, Frottage, Grinding, Kinktober, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Stranger Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Top Barry Allen, Watersports, author would like to apologize for not knowing heck-all about watersports, but can you blame him Penguin is Daddy, just call me Jon Snow because I know nothing, move over Chaos in the Air Tonight bc this is the kinkiest thing I've ever attempted...I think, oh yeah almost forgot, or about Flash, or about...anything really, this is definitely not canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys_cupcake_girl/pseuds/foggys_cupcake_girl
Summary: The Justice League did not get Barry "friends." It didn't get him anything, really. It gets him the odd "get your ass over here and help us" text from Bruce, but it hasn't gotten him a home, certainly not a family, and it's not even helping him keep hold of what little he's got left.Alone and cold, feeling lost and abandoned, Barry lets himself be taken in by a silver-haired man with an Irish accent and money to spare...and it may well be the kindest thing he's done for himself since the accident.DAY 12 of KinktoberWritten for prompts: Stranger sex | Frottage | Watersports |Facial
Relationships: Barry Allen/Oswald Cobblepot
Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950283
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	take me by the hand, take me somewhere new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingramblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/gifts).



> SO YEAH THIS IS A THING NOW I GUESS
> 
> Writingramblr requested bottom!Penguin and specified that it had to be the Colin Farrell that we all THOUGHT would be the Penguin, not the Penguin we actually got. I happily acquiesced, and promptly realized I had no idea what I was getting into.
> 
> This is...basically Gradence but with JL characters, guys, I'm sorry. Apologies to any diehard Flash fans, I know nothing, I have not read the comics, all I know is that messy hippie long-haired Ezra!Flash is hot AF and I would dearly love to see him make out with silver fox Colin Penguin Farrell.
> 
> A note re: the (admittedly very very VERY tame, probably pretty lame actually) watersports -- that kink not a Thing I Know Things About. I honestly almost skipped this prompt (mainly out of fear of making a total dumbass of myself) and if I offend anyone who actually *is* into watersports, I am sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. *sobs* I did my best, okay???
> 
> *clears throat* Right. I have apologized enough for this fic's existence. Party on dudes, I'm out. ^_^

The Justice League does not, in the end, get Barry any friends. What it gets him is the odd text from Bruce alerting him to a mission, and of course he always goes, because he can get from Central City to Gotham in minutes. There are no team movie nights or pizza parties. No random two AM texts asking if he can talk for a minute. Just: _all right Barry, we need you…great, we’re done, go away._

Today sucked. He’s tired. He’s hungry. (He’s _always_ fucking hungry.) Today was visiting day and he had to work. He just wants to see his dad. He wants a hug from his dad. He misses his mom. And…honestly, Barry wants to go home. Not to his not-quite-legal apartment on the outskirts of Central City. _Home._

On his way home from work it starts to rain. He has to just walk, because he can’t afford enough food this month to use his speed powers any more than necessary. He runs warm, so he didn’t wear a coat this morning, and now he’s soaked to the skin. He shivers, pulls his hoodie around him a little tighter, stops under the marquee of the movie theater for a rest. He’s tired. God, but he’s tired.

“You okay, kid?”

Barry jumps about ten feet and looks up to see an actual silver fox staring him down. He’s got at least forty pounds on Barry, and instinct would usually tell Barry to be afraid—he’s been told that he has a “punchable face but a fuckable mouth,” and it’s anybody’s guess what this guy wants—but the man’s dark eyes are kind, and honestly, Barry is too exhausted to be afraid.

He opens his mouth to speak but what comes out, to his total embarrassment, is a pathetic little noise of pain. The man reaches out as if to catch Barry when he inevitably swoons. “Need a ride home?” he offers, and it takes a second for Barry to place his accent. New York, yes, but there’s a hint of Irish in there as well, and Barry thinks that this man, like him, must be a long way from home.

Barry shakes his head and, as he always does, finds his voice. “I don’t have a home. I mean, I _live_ somewhere. I’m not sleeping on the streets. Or working the streets. Oh god, I don’t know why I said that. I’m not a hooker,” he says defensively. “And I’m not _actually_ homeless. I just don’t really…have a home.”

“Clear as mud,” the silver fox says with a roll of his eyes. He comes a little closer, cautiously reaching out. “Come here, kid. You look like you’re about to faint or cry or both. If you don’t have a home, you can come to my hotel for the night.”

A weak, humorless laugh spills unbidden from Barry’s lips. “Yeah. Sounds like a great way to get screwed,” he says bluntly.

The man chuckles a little and loops an arm around Barry’s shoulders. “That’s on the table, if it’s what you’re into,” he says matter-of-factly. “But I’d really just like to get you someplace warm, get some food into you, and talk about why you don’t have anywhere to go.”

“It’s not like that,” Barry protests, but the man is already leading him to a waiting stretch limo and he doesn’t really have the wherewithal to refuse.

~

The man’s name is Os, short for Oswald Cobblepot (Jesus, and Barry thought _his_ name was a hot mess!) and he is in town on business, staying at the Four Seasons. Whatever. Barry’s too tired to question it, just strips to his boxers, dries off, and puts on the t-shirt he’s offered (which is far too big for him, and he has to force himself to not think about the fact that this is probably _that guy’s_ t-shirt). 

Os is seated on the couch with a drink, but he gets to his feet quickly when Barry comes in. “Comfortable?” he asks, and Barry, at a loss for words for once, nods. The man regards him with sad eyes. “You look so unhappy,” he says quietly.

Barry shrugs and the t-shirt slips down his shoulder, leaving him a bit more exposed. “I’m not sure what I am,” he admits. “I thought I was okay, but now…”

Os reaches out to him, and Barry wastes no time in pressing himself against the strong, soft, intoxicatingly _warm_ body. “Good God. When’s the last time you ate?” the man says as he runs his hand over the knobs of Barry’s spine. “You run into a bad deal, kid? Someone leave you out in the cold? Is that what happened?”

“I…I don’t _know.”_ He makes a soft, choked noise that straddles the line between a sob and a laugh. “I just want—I just want to fucking go _home—”_

“Sh-h-h. It’s okay, baby.” He’s pressed deeper into the warm cushion of Os’ body, a strong hand soothingly petting his back. “You’re safe with me. I know a thing or two about being left out with the trash. Sh-h-h. Don’t cry. You’re okay.”

“’M not crying.” He isn’t, he really isn’t. He just feels…unmoored. But when this man, this stranger who didn’t _have_ to help him but _did,_ holds him so tightly, some of the broken pieces inside him feel like they’re coming back together.

He lifts his head and looks into the eyes of his rescuer. Up close the man is even more handsome and silver fox-y. Those big brown eyes, Barry thinks a little dreamily, could read a person’s soul. To say nothing of that mouth…a flawless heart-shaped pout set off by just the right amount of graying facial hair.

“If I kissed you,” Os says carefully, “would you push me away?”

“God, no. Can you not see me staring at your mouth? Because I totally was. And like, I’d apologize, except I kind of feel like you wanted me to—”

Barry’s about to work himself into a full anxious rant when Os mercifully shuts him up by kissing the words right out of his mouth. He kisses exactly like how he looks like he would. Strong and commanding, but gentle, oh-so-gentle. He keeps one hand on the slight dip of Barry’s waist, the other tangling in his hair and using it as leverage to to deepen the angle of the kiss. 

Barry knows it’s a bad idea, that this man is still a stranger and he could very well end up dismembered. But honestly, he thinks as the man groans into his mouth and reaches down to grope his ass, _what a fucking way to go._

“Oh God, yes,” he breathes when Os pulls back and asks if this is all right. “You can do this to me, like, _all night._ And other stuff too. If you want.”

“Are you sure?”

Barry meaningfully nudges his hips against the older man’s. “Very sure.”

~

There are things Os is very well used to, but having a sweet-eyed kid come onto him without a single trace of fear is not on that list.

Barry is warm and willing, all arms and legs and frenetic sexual energy, and every time Os tries to pull away so as to suggest they take this to the bedroom he makes a little whining noise of protest and pulls Os back into the kiss like this is their last chance. Well. He’s certainly not going to complain. Let the kid devour him. It’s not every day, after all, that he gets to have sex without paying for it.

He slides a hand down to the kid’s lovely pert ass and grabs a handful, relishing the muffled grunt of pleasure he gets from Barry in return. Fire flashes through his veins and he acts on it, backing Barry’s slender body up against the wall and grinding on him like his life depends on it. The kid moans throatily and grabs at his shirt, breaking away just long enough to pant, “This. Off. _Please.”_

Os hesitates a moment—he’s not exactly a GQ model—but the kid is looking at him through pleading eyes, making grabby hands at the hem of his shirt, and damn but it’s hard to say no to that. And speaking of _hard,_ that’s exactly what he is when Barry stares hungrily at his bare chest and lets out an actual moan.

“Like what you see, kid?” He cups a hand over Barry’s thin shoulder, then bends his head to kiss the exposed skin. Fuck, but the kid looks good in his t-shirt. “Gotta say, I don’t usually get that reaction.”

“God, fuck yes, you’re hot.” Barry strains against him and—oh, there it is, _there’s_ the kid’s cock, full and hard against his thigh. It feels…generous, to say the least, and Os lets himself entertain the fantasy of sitting on it for a full five seconds before he goes back to the very inviting task of reducing his new houseguest to a quivering mess. “Oh my God what are you doing to me,” Barry gasps as Os sucks a bruise into his neck, slotting a thigh between the kid’s trembling legs. “Oh Jesus—oh _fuck,_ I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” Os murmurs into the slender neck, alternating bites and licks until he feels the kid shaking. “Do it, sweetheart. Come all over me.”

The boy whines, head tilted back, hips thrusting against Os in a desperate arrhythmia, until he stills and suddenly goes limp, wet warmth blossoming across the thigh between his legs. “I’m sorry,” he groans. “God, that’s…that is not a thing I usually do, I swear, I can last a lot longer than—”

“Sh-h-h.” Os nibbles a protruding collarbone. _Holy fuck, I need to feed this kid._ “Bet that took the edge off, didn’t it?” He reaches down and palms at the front of Barry’s now-soaked shorts and, what do you know, the kid’s already half-hard again. “What I wanna know is, how many times can you do that, you think?”

“A few,” Barry admits, groaning again as Os strokes him through the damp fabric. “Oh. Oh, _fuck yes.”_ His eyes roll up as Os, just to show off, pulls back and rips open the oversized t-shirt with his bare hands. “Oh. Oh God that shouldn’t be hot but it is. Fuck, that’s not fair, big _and_ strong, I just want to—”

Os scoops Barry up in his arms and hauls him off to the bedroom, where he tosses him unceremoniously into bed and crawls on top of him. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“Bite me.”

“Oh, gladly.” Os lowers his mouth to a waiting pert nipple, and the resulting sound the kid makes is enough to almost make him shoot off in his own pants. “Okay, sweetheart,” he pants between licks and nips, relishing each choked sound of pleasure he draws from his squirming lover. “We’ve got a couple of options here. You like being fucked, or would you rather do the fucking?”

Barry shivers as Os mouths at his cock through his wet shorts. “If you’re asking if you can top me, the answer is…well, I’m totally not going to stop you. Not if you keep— _ahhh—”_

The shorts have been torn away, and Os finally has a hand on that very nice cock. “Shit, kid. You got the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen…I’d kind of like to sit on it, actually. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

He chances a look at Barry’s face and the kid looks like he’s straight-up about to faint. “Um,” he squeaks.

“You ever topped anyone?” Os asks, as casually as one might ask _do you like Chinese food?_

That breaks the spell a little, and Barry huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Uh. Yeah. Look at me. Like guys are lining up to beg me to fuck them? Like I don’t have _useless twink_ written all over me?”

“Yeah, but you’re not that at all, are you.” Os pulls back and kneels beside Barry. He really is beautiful, the kid; all long limbs and pouty lips and innocent allure, his messy black curls spilled out against the pristine white sheets like a demonic halo. “Christ, kid. The way you look at me…’s enough to go to a man’s head.”

Barry props himself up on his elbows. “You want me to fuck you? Really?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m usually the one doing the fucking. But this…” He reaches out and runs a gentle hand down Barry’s generously-sized cock. “This, sweetheart, is the proverbial gift horse and I’m sure as fuck not about to look it in the mouth. Sure it’d be fun to suck you off and then nail you, but I’d rather you split me open. That is, if you want to.”

Face nearly slack with lust, Barry reaches out and fumbles helplessly with the buckle of Os’ belt and, hey, that’s a yes if ever he’s seen one, so he willingly helps the kid out. His belt flies over his shoulder, followed quickly by slacks and briefs, and then, shit, he’s fully naked in front of this beautiful young man with the overhead lights on and shit, the kid can definitely see his stretch marks and his belly fat and—

And maybe not, because Barry is fucking _licking his lips,_ staring at Os’ cock with unmistakable longing. “Wow, daddy,” he breathes, and then his whole face flushes. “Oh Jesus _fuck,_ pretend I didn’t just say that, oh my God just kill me—”

“Easy, kid. It’s okay.” Os reaches out and brushes Barry’s hair out of his burning red face. “It’s okay. You wanna call me that, you go right ahead.”

Barry nods and drags his eyes open. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and then goes back to eyeing up Os’ dick. Suddenly he says, “Okay, you know what, I’m sorry, I just gotta—fair’s fair, okay, and you already got me off once, so—”

“Hold on there,” Os warns him, because he knows for a fact he won’t last two seconds with that lovely plump mouth stretched around him, but nope—Barry is already diving in and, _holy shit_ is the kid actually fucking trying to deep-throat him? “Sweetheart, easy,” he pleads, and then makes a keening noise that would be embarrassing except he doesn’t have room left anymore for any emotion other than _fucking horny._

Barry sucks cock like he’s getting paid for it, swallowing Os down like it’s nothing and, God, actually _moaning around his cock_ like he’s getting something out of it too. And hell, maybe he is; Os is certainly not about to judge. Not with a hot mouth greedily sucking him off like the kid’s life depends on it. Os twitches his hips involuntarily, matching Barry moan for moan as those long fingers dig into the meat of his thighs and hold him open. _If he starts fingering me I’m gone,_ he thinks, and then Barry swallows and moans loudly, sending vibrations through Os like an earthquake, and he _is_ gone. Stars burst in front of his closed eyelids as he shoots down the boy’s throat, the wave of sudden, aching pleasure hitting him so hard he damn near blacks out.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” he says when he remembers how to get air into his lungs. He looks up to see Barry on all fours over him, watching him with mingled triumph and concern. “You take dick-sucking lessons at school or something?”

“No gag reflex,” Barry says matter-of-factly, but a grin is tugging at the corners of his lips and Os knows he’s (rightfully so, too) proud of himself. “So, then. Bathroom? Is that where you keep—”

“Yeah, yeah. Go get whatever you need.” Os blinks and Barry’s just _there,_ armful of towels and washcloths in one hand, lube and condoms in the other. “First of all what the hell, and second of all, condom when you just ate my cum? Really?”

Barry shrugs. “You had them, I figured you’d want them.” He tosses the stuff on the bed and then, with surprising strength for someone who looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, rolls Os over onto his stomach and presses a kiss to the small of his back. “Look, full disclosure,” he says, his voice shaking a bit, “I don’t actually know what I’m doing, so like. If I fuck it up…um, just tell me, okay?”

“Sweetheart, trust me, if I came any harder just now I’d have exploded. You’re doing _great.”_ Os relaxes into the touch as Barry first massages his lower back, then eases down over his ass and the back of his thighs. “Mmm. See, now you’re gonna put me to sleep.”

“Not what I had in mind, actually.”

Os feels Barry part his thighs, feels the kid’s long fingers spreading him open, and he’s mentally preparing himself to be fingered when—the fuck?—a damp washcloth gently strokes up and down the cleft of his ass, all the way down between his thighs. “What are you doing?” he asks, and then a moan claws its way out of his throat as it becomes _very_ apparent what Barry is doing, as the washcloth is replaced by a very warm, wet mouth. “Holy _fuck!_ Jesus, kid, warn a man, would you?”

Barry hums, the vibration radiating across Os’ skin and setting him even more on edge, and proceeds to kitten-lick his way inside, circling the tip of his tongue around the fluttering rim as if he’s been doing it his whole life. Fuck, but the kid has good instincts, if this is his first time rimming someone.

“Sweetheart, I’m—shit,” Os groans when the tongue begins to thrust in and out as if actually _fucking him,_ Jesus this boy is going to be the death of him. _I should not actually be hard right now,_ he realizes, a little delirious at the thought, but damn if his cock isn’t trying its absolute best to make a comeback. “Barry. _Fuck._ You trying to kill me, kid?”

Barry laughs, breath fluttering over sensitive damp skin, and he pulls back…only to slide a lube-slick finger where his mouth just was. “Mmm,” he sighs, and Os can just picture him licking those red, _red_ lips again. “How am I doing?”

If Os could breathe he’d answer. But it’s been way, _way_ too long since he’s been fucked for him to think or feel anything other than _oh god yes please._ Already loose and relaxed from his first orgasm, his body quickly yields to the intrusion and it’s not long before Barry’s two fingers deep inside him, crooking and scissoring and easily opening him up, and he’s so turned on he’s nearly catatonic.

 _The second he finds my prostate I’m gone,_ he thinks, and it’s like tempting fate, because the very next second Barry does precisely that, and shockwaves of unrelenting pleasure wash over him and—oh, that’s it. He actually lets out a tiny, messy little sob as he comes, his entire body practically vibrating, his head a complete fog. He hasn’t come untouched like that in _years._

“Wow,” he hears Barry breathe, sounding almost as dazed as Os feels. “Wow, God, I wasn’t trying to make that happen but—you good? Is this—okay?”

“Okay,” he manages to wheeze out. “Yeah. Good.”

“Okay.” Barry hesitates, fingers still deep inside and right over that spot, and he grazes it just barely and Os _jumps,_ unable to hold back a pained grunt. “Oh no, I—fuck, I’m sorry—um. I kind of wanna see your face, can you roll over?”

It takes him a minute to find the energy, but Os does manage to turn over and spread his legs for Barry—who, he can see with some interest, is very, _very_ hard. “You like seeing me all fucked out, kid, huh?”

“Oh God yeah.” Barry leans over him on all fours. “I kind of want to make you come again, actually.”

“I may well die if you do.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Death by orgasm? Well…there are worse ways to go, aren’t there?”

For all his sass, Barry is really very gentle, drawing up Os’ legs around him and pressing little butterfly kisses to his knee, the inside of his thigh, any part he can get his mouth on; one hand tracing soothing circles over Os’ belly to keep him relaxed. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay…daddy?”

It probably should not make his still-soft cock twitch to hear that sweet kid call him “daddy,” but at this point, frankly, Os is too far gone to care. “Feel free,” he says, and lets his head fall back, a soft groan spilling from his lips, as that gorgeous cock gradually impales him. “Ohhh _fuck._ Yeah, God, _yeah,_ that’s it.” He feels the kid’s hips roll gently, slowly filling him up, and oh God he hasn’t had this in _forever_ and it feels so fucking good. 

God, but he feels so _full,_ that perfect cock pressing inside him at just the right angle to make his eyes roll back into his skull. He knows Barry’s holding back and he appreciates that because, really, that thing between his legs should probably be registered as a potentially dangerous weapon, and then Barry changes the angle of his thrusts just _enough_ and suddenly—

 _“Ahhh_ fuck, kid, that’s it, right there.” He feels the kid’s cock hitting his prostate on every stroke, and it only takes a few whimpered pleas for more, for Barry to obligingly speed up. Os lets himself go slack under the kid, gives himself completely over to the pleasure building inside him again. He knows he’s going to absolutely die if he comes again (fuck, it’s already starting to hurt) but the look of exhilarated pleasure on the kid’s face is enough to entrance Os into forgetting how sore he’ll be tomorrow morning.

He actually yelps when Barry reaches down between their bodies and strokes him, a pained whine quickly giving way to moans of aching pleasure as a wet thumb gently circles the soft head. Barry, bless him, is trying to get him hard again, trying to get him off one more time. “Sweetheart, I don’t know if I can come again,” he warns, but it comes out sounding more like a plea.

“Come on, daddy, come on,” Barry urges him in stuttering moans, his hips jerking, and suddenly Os feels something warm filling him up and his entire body shudders. The kid goes glassy-eyed with pleasure, the handjob becoming loose and sloppy, and he’s still thrusting, sharp hips still twitching, still brushing against Os’ prostate and then—fuck, it’s all too much—his back bows up and he thinks he _is_ coming again until he realizes—

Os knows what’s going to happen almost before it does. His body tenses and then loosens, a shaking semblance of a climax that he can’t quite reach, and then he feels something warm and wet that is decidedly not cum spurting from his still-soft cock. “Fuck. Sorry,” he murmurs as he slumps back to the mattress, wet and shivering, entire body spasming with the ghost of pleasure.

“Oh, is that—damn, did I make you—wow,” and here Os opens his eyes in time to see a look on Barry’s face that is definitely more surprised than disgusted. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten someone off so hard they peed themselves…is it weird if I think that’s kind of hot?” he says thoughtfully, reaching out and carefully tracing his fingers through the mingled fluids on Os’ belly.

“You don’t find this just a tiny bit gross?”

Barry shrugs and meets his eyes again. “I work in a crime lab. If it comes out of a human body, I’ve probably handled at least a dozen samples of it.”

“I hardly think your suspects walk into the lab and pee on you, kid.”

That makes him laugh, a deep belly laugh that does interesting things to the place where their bodies are still more or less connected, and Barry lets out a wistful little moan as he pulls out and disentangles himself from Os. “More likely they’d do it than the corpses,” he grins. “C’mon, let’s go shower.”

“It is _genuinely hilarious_ that you think I can move right now.”

“I’ve got a great incentive for you, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Me, wet and naked.”

“I’m right behind you.”

~

Barry can’t remember the last time he felt this good.

He’s relaxing on the luxurious couch in the suite’s living space, his belly full for what must be the first time in months, wrapped up in one of Os’ thick, warm hoodies, both of them tucked under a layer of very soft throw blankets. Some generic action film is playing on the TV, but neither of them is watching it. He feels too sleepy to watch, honestly; his head is on Os’ chest and he’s melting into the man’s soft, pillowy body.

Earlier they had a long, hot, very sensual shower, hands straying and stroking and only pretending to clean each other, slippery handfuls of body wash easing the way for…other activities.

(Barry shivers at the memory of Os going down to his knees, nuzzling into his belly with soft, soothing kisses and whispering, _I think I owe you this,_ and then—his brain just about shorted out—pressing gently on his bladder until Barry had no choice but to let go, and _fuck fuck fuck_ he’d never done that before but it was hotter than he’d thought and then Os pressed him against the wall of the shower, whispering _all right, sweetheart, I’ll_ give _you a reason to call me Daddy,_ and fingered him until he came so hard he couldn’t breathe—)

After that, weak and trembling and so exhausted they could barely stand up, they’d staggered to the living room together. Os looked stricken as he realized, “I need to feed you.” Barry had warned him, _I eat a lot,_ and Os had waved that away as if it were of absolutely zero consequence. “Kitchen’s not gonna run out of food, kid, and you look like you need it. Here”—as he pressed a room service menu into Barry’s hands—“get whatever you want.”

(Barry did, and he had to bite his tongue not to laugh as Os’ eyes went wide at just how much food he managed to put away. _You weren’t kidding, were you. Here, let me order some more…Jesus, kid, when’s the last time you had a meal?_ He would’ve felt patronized, had it been anyone else. But the way Os looked at him, as if he’d personally stock Barry’s kitchen if he could and it was killing him that no one had done it already, made him feel something else entirely.)

Now they’re just lying here together, and Barry is sleepy and content, his hunger for both food and connection well-sated. He doesn’t feel empty or achingly tired anymore, and that alone would be enough, but on top of that…he feels _protected._ Maybe this guy _is_ a stranger, maybe he _does_ have ulterior motives, but all Barry cares about is here and now, and right here, right now, he’s safe and warm and so, _so_ happy.

“You’re beautiful, kid. You know that, don’t you?” Os murmurs as he pets his hair. “How the hell does someone like you end up shivering and starving in the pits of Central City, huh?”

Barry lets out a weak, sleepy laugh. “It’s a long story, and kind of a pathetic one. I’d like you to still like me when we wake up tomorrow, thanks.”

Os chuckles and gently squeezes the back of his neck. “If I told you my story, you’d throw up all that food. I promise, whatever happened to you, I’ve heard worse. Probably done worse, too.”

Barry sighs heavily and forces his eyes open. “You’re from New York, right? You ever heard of Batman?”

Os tenses a little beneath him. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “I’ve run into him a few times. Guess you could say I know him.”

“Yeah, well. I thought I did, too.”

Os is quiet for a moment. Then, very softly, he says, “Kid, if you tell me what he did to you, I have the power to make him pay.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Try me, sweetheart.”

There’s so much he can’t tell Os, so much he wishes he could but can’t. “Let’s just say I’ve dropped everything to help him, a lot…and then…shit. I didn’t want to do this, I didn’t want to ask, I _hate_ asking for favors…but Iron Heights is going to send my dad away. I don’t know where. I _won’t_ know where until the transfer’s been made. And I asked, I _begged,_ for him to help me get him out, to a lower-security place. Because—fuck, you aren’t going to believe me—but Dad didn’t do what they said he did. I was there, I saw it, but no one would listen, and—and I just—I just want to see him again, without glass and a phone and all that shit, and if not—at least—at least Batman could’ve kept him from being sent away to who even knows where—”

His voice breaks, and Os rubs his back and, thankfully, pretends not to see him fighting to not cry. When Barry’s got a reasonable hold on himself again, Os tells him quietly, “Let me talk to some people. I can’t promise miracles. But a lot of people in this city owe me some favors.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Kid, this city is so corrupt you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve gotten people who _did_ do what they were accused of out of much worse places. Let me see what I can do, okay?”

Barry tries to sit up, but Os holds him down—not to restrain him, but as if he doesn’t want to let Barry go. “I can’t ask—”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering, and…listen, I’m not a good man. You ought to know that right now. I’ve done shit that would give you a heart attack, but…” He sighs heavily and cuddles Barry a little closer. “But I can help. And unlike your pal Batman, I don’t give a shit about the repercussions if I do.”

“Okay…” Barry’s voice sounds faint to his own ears. “Okay, um…what will I owe you if you I say yes?”

The strong chest under his head vibrates as Os rumbles out a low, rich laugh. “You fucked me so hard I just about lost my mind, sweetheart. Consider this a thank-you.”

And maybe Barry should listen to the little warning siren that sounds an awful lot like Superman’s voice, urging him to not trust this guy (who is so, so _painfully obviously_ some kind of crime lord, the signs are there, Barry would have to be blind not to see them), to run from this hotel room now before he loses his chance to escape. Maybe he’s stupid and naive and going to get hurt. Maybe he should soldier on like Bruce wants him to.

But he feels safe and wanted for the first time in years, and he _likes_ Os. He likes the man’s kind dark eyes, his soft, strong body, his little gray moustache, the subtly mocking tone in his voice when he calls Barry _sweetheart._ He likes the way the man makes him feel. And all right, he liked the sex. He _definitely_ liked the sex.

“Okay,” he says, and he’s rewarded by another gently-crushing hug, the kind of warm embrace that calms his perpetually-racing heart and makes him think that maybe the world isn’t such a bad place after all. “Okay. Thank you.”

Forget Superman. What does he know, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> ...do y'all KNOW how nerve wracking it is to write a porn-y gift for someone known for their smut fics O.o


End file.
